


Not in Blood, But in Bond

by martialartist816



Series: Whitechapel Winters [4]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Drama, Lover's Quarrel, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-12
Packaged: 2018-09-16 22:52:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9293030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/martialartist816/pseuds/martialartist816
Summary: This is what it takes for Frederick and Jacob to exchange 'I love you's.





	

**Author's Note:**

> title from [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xxx3GWIaODY) from the sherlock holmes (RDJ) film
> 
> this is my last installment for the whitechapel winters series! if you were curious, the chronological order of the fics is part 3 -> part 4 (this one) -> part two -> part one
> 
> enjoy!

For a few days now, Frederick had been gathering clues about a missing man. A wealthy nobleman and the patriarch of his family. Normally, missing persons was outside of Frederick’s jurisdiction, but this man was one of the few whose fortune made up the backbone of London’s economy. If news of his disappearance had gotten out, the city would fall into financial turmoil once again.

It was Frederick’s job to find the man and put him back in his mansion quietly.

The sergeant circled around the small wooden desk in his flat, leaning over scattered papers and rereading each sentence carefully. The documents--ranging from birth certificates to press releases to restaurant receipts--seemed to have little connection to one another, but to Frederick’s trained eye, those sheets of parchment painted a direct line to the next set of clues.

A fire burned in his hearth, keeping him warm whenever a gust of winter air blew through his open window. Frederick sipped at a cup of tea that was just beginning to lose its warmth when a heavy boot step from behind nearly made him jump. He turned, narrowing his eyes at the assassin who’d just snuck into his rooms.

“Jacob, would it kill you to announce yourself when you come at me from behind like that?”

“It’s your own fault for always leaving the window open,” Jacob responded as his hands pushed back the dark hood over his face. Some snow had collected on his shoulders, and it fell to the floor whenever Jacob moved. Underneath the hood, Jacob wore a warm smile, untouched by the cold. “It’s actually quite endearing, this new habit you’ve developed.”

Frederick brushed past Jacob and slid the window shut, hoping the heat of the flames would compensate for the drop in temperature. Returning to his papers, Frederick leaned against his desk and raised the cup to his lips.

“I’d rather have you enter through the window than the front door. I don’t know what I’d do if the neighbors saw me with someone like you.”

“Heh,” Jacob breathed to hide his wince at Frederick’s words. It was only then did Frederick realize how he sounded, and his heart dropped.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Jacob,” he said quickly, rushing to find a way to rewrite what had already been spoken. “Just that I’m a police officer, you know… and you’re a notorious gang leader--”

“I know, Freddy, I know.” Jacob smirked, all the hurt gone from his face. He rested his hands on Frederick’s shoulders, holding his gaze. Over the two years Frederick had known him, Jacob finished growing. He now stood a few inches taller than the sergeant, and Frederick couldn’t tell if he liked it or not. Currently, he was leaning more toward liking it very much.

“I’m sorry,” he offered pathetically, prompting a light chuckle from Jacob.

“Don’t apologize. It sounds strange coming from your mouth.” Jacob wrapped him in a loose hug, arms draped over his shoulders. Frederick returned the embrace, pushing his hands underneath Jacob’s cloak and looping his arms around his middle. “There’s nothing to apologize for, anyway. I get it.”

“Would you like some tea?” Frederick muttered into the hard leather of Jacob’s shoulder.

“I’d enjoy nothing more than to come home after a long day of work and have hot tea ready for me, made by my loving wife.”

“Don’t make me hit you,” Frederick said sternly as he pulled away.

He put on a kettle, warming water enough for one cup as he prepared a tea he knew Jacob enjoyed.

“Someone’s gone missing?” Jacob asked from behind. Frederick turned to see him reading through the various papers littering his desk.

“That's private information. Don't look at it.”

Jacob ignored the demand and picked up one of the receipts.

“Then don't leave it out in the open.” Jacob also ignored the resulting growl from Frederick. “I thought you didn't take missing cases, although this one seems loaded. Planning on taking a reward, Freddy?”

Frederick stood near the kettle and threw Jacob a glare over his shoulder. “He's a very important man who needs to be found alive and safe.”

“I accept.” Jacob set the paper down and casually strolled up behind Frederick, arms circling around his waist. As the sergeant set up the tea to steep, Jacob rested his chin on Frederick’s shoulder and watched his hands with mild interest.

“You’re not meddling, Jacob,” Frederick bit at him.

“Freddy,” Jacob said, like simply saying his nickname was enough to convince him otherwise. “You know I’m more than capable of delivering people to you  _ quietly _ . I do all the work, you get all the credit.”

As he talked, he began gently swaying side to side, pulling Frederick with him in his tight embrace. Frederick allowed himself to move, since he was only making tea and Jacob’s hands weren’t distracting him  _ yet _ .

“Promise me you won’t stick your nose in this case, and I will give you your tea.” Frederick poured the drink and held it, not turning around until he heard an agreement from the assassin.

“So good at bargaining,” Jacob drawled, prompting Frederick to roll his eyes, and left a kiss over the whiskers dusting Frederick’s face. “I promise.”

Frederick smiled to himself and turned in Jacob’s arms, offering him the still steaming cup of tea.

Jacob reached into his cloak and produced a small silver flask. As he poured a strong-smelling brown liquid into his tea, Frederick watched with disapproving eyes.

“It'll put me right to sleep,” Jacob tried, grinning cheekily as he replaced the flask and took his cup.

“I  _ will _ write to Evie and inform her that you’ve developed alcoholism. Just you wait.” It wasn't an empty threat. Frederick wasn't above ratting Jacob out if it was for his own good. Sometimes he wondered how on earth the twins could have been raised together and still turned out to be so different from each other.

“Don't tell mummy on me. I'll be a good boy.” With the way Jacob downed the spiked tea in one gulp, Frederick couldn't take his words seriously.

“I go through all the trouble to make you a nice hot drink on this cold night,” Frederick started, a teasing edge to his voice, “and it's gone in a flash. Did you even taste it on the way down?”

“I savored every last drop.” Jacob reached past Frederick, crowding his personal space, to set the teacup on the counter behind him, his eyes dark in the firelight. When Frederick’s body sensed the shift in mood, he shivered. “It's the least I can do after my darling wife slaved over the stove to make it for me.”

As Jacob’s arms circled around Frederick, hands settling casually (possessively) over his rear end, Frederick placed his flattened palms on Jacob’s chest. His cheeks started to feel warm.

“I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm a man,” Frederick huffed, trying to sound indifferent. It was hard when his body moved on its own, his neck extending so he could brush his nose along Jacob’s sharp jawline. His musky, masculine scent made the poor sergeant weak in the knees. He continued, in a gruff whisper, “So don't call me your wife.”

When Jacob spoke, low and purposeful, his lips touched the shell of Frederick’s ear.

“You’re going to be treated like one tonight.”

* * *

That was how Frederick ended up on his back, knees spread, naked skin flushed and warm. Jacob lay on his side next to him, pressed close, two fingers deep in Frederick’s ass. The fingers filled him and made him feel hot. He shifted his legs farther apart in a silent plea for more, and Jacob granted it by thrusting his hand in and out.

Frederick moaned, careful to keep it quiet, and pulled Jacob in by the lapel for a messy kiss. As he panted into his mouth, Jacob was all composure. He took control of the kiss, sucking on his tongue and biting his lips until they were red. The kisses led to Frederick’s cheeks, then his neck, all the way down his heaving chest.

Jacob repositioned himself between Frederick’s knees, fingers still slowly torturing him. His kisses turned into wet licks when he reached Frederick’s hips. Jacob sucked a dark bruise into the sensitive area, causing Frederick to arch up toward his mouth.

It was all so fast. Jacob parted his lips and swallowed Frederick down his throat. Inside, his fingers curled for the perfect angle and pulled a low whimper from Frederick’s throat, and an instant later, he came into Jacob’s waiting mouth and closed his eyes to hold onto the sensation.

Jacob--beautiful, skilled Jacob--took care of the cleanup. He redressed Frederick as easily as one dressed a doll, limbs loose and tingly. Frederick turned on his side and curled himself into Jacob’s chest.

“Don't you want me to do the same for you?” he asked after a yawn. If the answer was yes, he'd have to wake himself up to get the job done.

A large hand rested on his back and rubbed soothingly.

“No, that was for you. How do you feel?” Jacob spoke into Frederick's hair.

“Relaxed.”

“Then I've done all I needed to do.”

Frederick dozed off almost immediately, fingers grasping the front of Jacob’s shirt. It was peaceful and wonderful, laying with his assassin like that.

When Frederick was well under and settled for the night, Jacob pried himself from the bed and shrugged on his coat. After memorizing the name on the documents still spread over Frederick’s desk, he glanced back at the bed and slipped out through the window.

* * *

Thick fog blanketed the city, making it hard to see and work. The cloudy moisture curled into the lungs of anyone unfortunate enough to have to be outside in the chilled and eerie night.

Frederick lifted box after box, tilting the brim of his tattered hat downwards to keep his eyes hidden. The sound of steam-powered boat engines drowned out nearly everything else. Being so close to the Thames, Frederick was reminded how much he disliked the smell of fish.

He wore a porter disguise, and his task of moving purposeless wooden boxes around allowed him to survey the area and the people who bustled around. All the clues had led him there, and he scanned the faces around him for one in particular: that of the missing man he had to hunt down.

There were two possibilities. His target could either be in the large, empty warehouse directly behind the dock. Or he could have been smuggled onto a boat, ready to be shipped out to god-knows-where in the blink of an eye.

He’d start with the warehouse and pray that none of the boats were ready to set sail just yet.

Dusting his hands off, Frederick cleared his throat and stole away to the warehouse side entrance. He slipped through the door and hung close to the wall. In the shadows, he listened for any voices.

Hushed speaking came from a higher floor. Frederick gripped the steel railing at the staircase and looked up. He couldn’t see the source of the whispering, but there were certainly at least two people inside the warehouse.

He ascended the stairs on his toes, moving slowly and keeping his eyes up. On the third floor, the voices were much more distinguishable.

“Did the cargo give you any… troubles as it was getting loaded?”

“Kicked and screamed, but the fat geezer couldn’t do much damage.”

The two men stood inside a small room in the corner. Frederick could see their shadows thrown against the window. He crouched down behind a barrel and listened for more details. Maybe one of them would let slip which boat the man had been stowed in.

“The bobbies are on our tail, you know. They’ll probably be after us as soon as we leave the dock.”

The other man chuckled darkly, and Frederick heard the sharp click of a revolver being cocked.

“No worries. I’ve got the  _ equipment _ to keep them off our scent.”

Frederick’s fingers dug into the lip of the barrel, his senses on high alert. He reached into his coat and wrapped his fingers around his gun’s handle. One of them was definitely armed. He wasn’t sure if the other was, but Frederick had to be ready in case they decided to put the equipment they spoke of to use.

A gloved hand covered his mouth, and Frederick took an alarmed breath in through his nose, eyes wide.

“Shh.” Cool breath blew across the side of his face, and it took Frederick an unreasonably long time to recognize Jacob’s calm eyes staring at him.

Relief washed over Frederick, then was quickly replaced by an indecent monologue.

_ What the hell do you think you’re doing here I told you to mind your own business you promised me, Jacob Frye, you insufferable stubborn assassin you’re going to jeopardize my job and when we get home you’re going to get such an earful. _

Jacob held his hand tightly over Frederick’s mouth, his other hand gripping his upper arm. His eyes darted toward the criminals, and he ducked down while pulling Frederick with him. The sergeant went willingly, only because he heard footsteps exiting the room and coming closer to their hiding place.

Their shadows passed, and for a terrifying moment, Frederick feared he had been discovered.

But they walked away, chatting more about their plans as they walked down the stairs in tandem.

Jacob relaxed only when their voices had disappeared completely. He sagged against the wall, letting Frederick go but leaning lazily against him as they sat on the floor.

“I thought you were a policeman, not a spy,” he muttered, head resting carelessly on Frederick’s chest.

“I thought  _ you  _ made a promise,” came his harsh whisper.

Frederick started pushing himself off the floor, causing Jacob to get up with him. He brushed off the fabric of his disguise and straightened it out. Striding over to the railing, he peeked his head over to see the two criminals from before chatting on the first floor. One of them held a small box. Frederick couldn’t tell for certain, but it looked like the letters printed on the side of it spelled out “dynamite.”

“Some vital information,” Jacob paused to find a fitting word, “ _ fell _ into my lap. I can’t sit aside when I know I can help you.”

Frederick didn’t want to hear the excuses. Helping or not, Jacob had gone back on his word. But it was Frederick’s own fault, really, for trusting an assassin whose job it was to break the rules. When Jacob joined him in looking over the railing, Frederick simply rolled his eyes.

“The only thing you’re doing right now is distracting me,” he hissed in a low tone.

Something about having a lover’s spat while trying to remain undetected seemed foolish. It was just so easy to argue with Jacob at times.

Frederick pushed away from the railing and walked toward the large, clouded window on the wall opposite to them. He took a deep breath, organizing the information he’d gathered.  _ Think, Frederick _ .

Through the window, he watched the fuzzy, blinking lights of the steam boats float by. His missing man was probably on one of those boats, and those involved with his kidnapping had a plan to keep the police from finding them.

“Freddy…” Jacob approached him, hand extended. Frederick only threw a short glance over his shoulder.

“Not now, Jacob,” he interrupted.

“Freddy!”

Frederick’s instinct told him to slap his hand over Jacob’s mouth for yelling so carelessly. The kidnappers were probably already on their way up the stairs to see who the hell was spying on them. Frederick spun around, hands tightly clenched at his sides as he parted his lips to speak.

But the desperation and fear in Jacob’s eyes halted the words right in his throat. Jacob rushed at him, all in slow motion. A gloved fist raised, came forward, and drove right past Frederick’s face. He heard the window shatter before he could turn around and see what Jacob was punching at.

Shattered glass dropped at their feet or fell the three stories to the ground outside. Jacob offered no explanation, only lifted Frederick off his feet and hopped into the vacant windowsill.

“Jacob, wait--” Frederick scrabbled to hold onto Jacob’s clothes. He craned his neck, staring with wide eyes at the hard stone of the dock below.

Jacob’s arms were there, and then they were gone.

Frederick’s stomach turned into a rock, sinking him through the air after Jacob dropped him. It felt like forever until he hit the water. The last dry image he captured was that of Jacob still in the window, looking on in worry as the warehouse bloomed yellow like a sunflower. Even with water-filled ears, Frederick could hear the deafening boom of what must’ve been tens of boxes of dynamite going off.

Under the Thames, the black of night and the grey of fog bled with the orange of angry flames.

Frederick surfaced and gasped for breath. He wasn’t given a moment of peace when debris from the building started raining down into the river. Frederick floundered until he wound up under the bow of a nearby boat, missing the worst of the flaming wood and shards of glass littering the water.

He shivered, and he suspected it didn’t have much to do with how cold the water was.

“Jacob…” he murmured through chattering teeth. Getting his arms to do something, he swam to the edge of the dock and pulled himself onto the cobblestones. His eyes didn’t move from the warehouse, the roaring fire looking more like an inferno from hell.

“Jacob!”

Around him, civilians screamed and moaned in pain. Frederick wasn’t sure if anyone else had been in the blast, but he frankly didn’t care.

Each door and window was blocked by the flames. Frederick doubted if there would be anything to find even if he somehow managed to get inside. He circled the building, searching for a way in regardless.

“Jacob!” Frederick cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted into nothing. Would he be able to hear over the crackling of burning wood? In the distance, the alarm bell of a fire engine grew louder.

Frederick spotted a pair of dark boots from under a piled of charred planks. He ran, clothes heavy from the water, and nearly fell as he knelt down beside the debris. Ignoring splinters, he dug through the wood and uncovered more and more of a cloak he had long since mapped with his eyes and his hands. He knew each stitch and scuff in the dark leather, memorized the assassin emblem in the center of the back.

Jacob was face down in the dirt, bleeding from some unseen wound in his skull. Frederick fought back the stinging in his eyes and sat down to roll Jacob over, hands cradling the sides of his head.

“Jacob…?”

Frederick studied his face frantically, desperate to find signs of consciousness. He covered Jacob’s nose with his fingers and felt shallow breaths every few seconds.

Relieved, Frederick would say later, didn’t come close to describing how he felt in that moment.

He slumped forward and pulled Jacob’s head into his lap. Frederick curled over his body, touching their foreheads together and letting himself breath normally for the first time since before the explosion. The air was cold, but the fire from the building next to them heated his wet clothes. He needed to move to a safer location, but he preferred to just hold Jacob and pretend they were alone in the world for one brief instant.

Eventually, he heard a groan.

Frederick lifted his head, fingers stroking Jacob’s cheek as he opened his eyes. He smiled softly at those eyes, blinking tears back.

“How do you feel?” he asked quietly.

“Peachy.” Jacob tried lifting his hand but grimaced, and Frederick pushed his arm back down to his side.

“I meant do you hurt anywhere?” Frederick scanned Jacob’s body. Besides his head, he didn’t see any blood. Hopefully a good sign.

“I think my leg’s broken.” Jacob let his eyes slip closed again. It tugged at Frederick’s heartstrings to think about how much pain Jacob was in. Damn stubborn assassin. He should have jumped when he had the chance…

“You should worry the most about this hole in your head. You’re bleeding all over me, you know.”

Jacob offered a weak smile and tried to move again. Frederick kept him down with hands on his chest.

“Just relax for now. We’ll get you to the hospital soon enough.”

“I suppose I should’ve listened to you about not sticking my nose in this case, huh?” Jacob made a small sound that might’ve been a laugh, but it turned into a cough at the end.

Frederick’s frowned. Yes, he should have listened and stayed away. It was Frederick’s case to work on, and Jacob had made a promise. But Frederick didn’t know about the dynamite and didn’t have reflexes like Jacob did. He was only walking because Jacob disobeyed him. Jacob saved his life, and Frederick didn’t know what to call the kind of pain that made his chest tighten at the realization of it.

He fisted the fabric of Jacob’s clothes and shut his eyes against the tears. Some still dripped onto Jacob’s forehead, and Frederick was quick to wipe them away.

“I love you,” he said quickly so his voice wouldn’t waver too much. After a sniffle, he added, “you reckless bastard.”

“Freddy.” Fingers wove themselves into Frederick’s hair. “I love you, too.”

* * *

They had been together for two years before that. It shouldn’t have taken so long for Frederick to say those three simple words to Jacob. Frederick regretted each moment he didn’t say it. Every morning they woke up together. Every goodbye they exchanged when Jacob departed for India again. Every case and every fight and every murder, Frederick loved him.

But after it had been said aloud, he made sure to never let Jacob forget it.

**Author's Note:**

> they found the missing man, and in the words of my queen evie frye, england lives to see another day
> 
> thank you for sticking with this series!


End file.
